


A Sea of Trouble

by Peaceful_Loon



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Case Fic, Cornwall, Gen, Local Myths and Legends, Nightingales Past, No Beta - we die like David Mellenby, Peter for the love of all that is holy see a therapist, Post Broken Homes, Various OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 10:14:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29758083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peaceful_Loon/pseuds/Peaceful_Loon
Summary: It is summer, Skygarden is dust and so is Peter and Lesleys friendship. In the waters of Cornwall something is stirring and Peter, Nightingale and Varvara must put a stop to it before there is irreparable damage - both to the port of Falmouth and themselves.This is set post Broken Homes, but pre Foxglove Summer and whilst it heavily references canon, it is really almost a replacement to that novel.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	A Sea of Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> "I, in the meantime, focused on the fact we were going to Cornwall - the county where Brits who can't quite afford a holiday abroad flock to in the summer and one which, as far as I could tell from the photos I had previously seen online, was seemingly made up exclusively of picturesque fisherman's cottages perched on rugged cliffs above beaches with yellow sand and sea as blue as the Mediterranean."
> 
> It's holiday time - but what is a holiday without a little sea serpent?

I was sprinting through Covent Garden, the opera crowd on my heels with Lesley in the lead - her face was contorted into Punch's rictus grin, and no matter how quickly I thought I was running she, and the crowd, were close enough for me to feel their fingers grasp at my clothes. I could feel my breath shuddering through my lungs and burning in my throat and I knew that soon I wouldn't be able to keep running at all. I took two more steps, almost tripping over my feet when suddenly there was a rumble, an explosion, the ground gave way beneath me, and I was plummeting in freefall towards a dark hole on a tube station platform, the jagged edges reminding me of the broken remains of Lesley's teeth. This time, there was no Faceless Man to ride down on to slow my fall. I wanted to scream but the wind whipped the sound away. Just before I hit the bottom of the pit something caught and set me on the ground - I looked up to see Lesley and the Faceless Man stood above me - him seemingly levitating huge chunks of concrete above my head, ready to let them drop. 

"I'm sorry it had to be this way, Peter", he said and I would recognise those clipped vowels anywhere. I didn't need to see him whip off his mask, as he let the rocks drop, to know that it was Nightingale.

I woke with a scream still caught behind my teeth and an _impello palma_ already forming in my mind. It was too late to stop it, but luckily my chest of drawers was built in a century when furniture was made to last, and as they had thus far managed to survive several wars and many generations of practitioners, my attempts at demolishing them led to nothing more than a slight rocking in place and the handles giving a rather dramatic rattle. My heartbeat was rabbit fast in my chest and I couldn't quite seem to be able to get enough oxygen into my lungs despite the deliberately slow and deep breaths I was trying to take. The inky darkness of my bedroom wasn't helping so I switched on my bedside lamp, and looked at the clock - 3:40am a staggering 40 minutes longer than I lasted yesterday. I felt bone-tired, and slightly sick in that way when you've not had enough sleep but way too much adrenalin. Unfortunately, I was well aware from my previous attempts that sleep would be all but impossible and would only leave me frustrated and anxious, tossing until I judged it late enough to be able to get up, so I gave it up as a lost cause, and started to extract myself from the sweatsoaked bed linens. Just as I'd managed to wrestle free, I heard a quiet knock at my door. 

Now, although the Folly's inhabitants had increased recently with the addition of Varvara Tamonina to our ranks, at least in the short term, I knew that there was only one person who would be wandering the corridors at this hour and only one person who may hold my attack on the furniture against me. So I squared my shoulders, took as deep a breath as I could manage, and opened the door. As expected Molly stood on the other side, an inquisitive eyebrow arched and a frown on her lips. 

"Sorry Molly" I said "just another nightmare, nothing to worry about." 

She looked distinctly sceptical at this, but nonetheless drifted away to do whatever Molly does during the moonfilled hours of the night when the rest of us mere mortals are supposed to be sleeping. I rooted around and grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of joggers from a drawer, fresh and smelling slightly of lavender, although thankfully without the razor sharp creases that Molly was so fond of and dragged myself off to the Folly gym. This had become my routine recently, since sleep had continued to elude me and I couldn't get the concentration together to read, I trained instead. I would have gone down to the range but Dr Walid's many lectures and the images of magically degraded brains had been sufficient for me to avoid trying to do magic because, really, an aneurysm was just about the last thing I needed right now.

By the time I had got to the gym, the memory of the nightmare was starting to fade, but the nervous energy remained, so I wrapped my hands with the tape which was always left on the benches that were pushed against the walls and let the punching bag have it. I personally suspect that I am not the only one in the Folly who works through his issues by punching things, but I have yet to catch Nightingale at it beyond our sparring matches. By the time the hazy dawn sunlight had started to filter through the windows, my arms were aching and my knuckles felt bruised, but the dream had faded away entirely and the juddering of my breath was because of the workout rather than panic so I counted it as a win and went to find Toby to take him for his morning walk.

As usual, he was with Molly in the kitchen and was making snuffling noises and twitching in his sleep whilst she clattered around with pots and pans, creating whatever gastronomical delights that awaited us for breakfast. I saw something that looked like it could have been cheese soaking in cheesecloth held in place over a large pan, but could equally have been brains, decided that discretion was the biggest part of valour, grabbed Toby's collar - who had woken when I picked it up and was running in excited circles around my ankles - and made my escape before any snacks of mysterious origin were foisted upon me.

London is a city and so, much like its' American cousin, it never sleeps but unlike New York the insomniacs are spread out over a larger area so it feels far more empty in the early hours. That's not to say that on mine and Toby's jaunt through Russell Square, past the statue of the Duke and down to the Cabmans Shelter, we didn't pass other people taking a shortcut through the park. There were two main types - those who were hurrying as a shortcut to the tube station, their faces with that slightly dazed look people with not had enough sleep but too much responsibility have, and party goers staggering back heels held in hand and the fixed determination of someone adamant that they would reach their own bed, regardless of how many drinks or drugs they had the night before. The roads were also starting to fill and the rumble of passing traffic was filling the space with the hum of vehicles that is the white noise of cities, unnoticed until it stops. Me and Toby did not fit into either of the categories, but I still meandered along the paths, letting Toby sniff at every interesting tree and bush - a route which included a few diverting chases of squirrels, so it took us a while before we eventually made it across the park to the café. Erected in Victorian times, it initially served only cab drivers as its name implies, but the owners quickly realised that they could rake in far more money if they served everyone indiscriminately, and it was now a great place to grab a coffee which was strong enough to make you feel like you mainlined it directly into your veins without also paying Starbucks prices. I considered also getting a snack, but thought of the silent judgement I would have to endure if I did not eat the breakfast that Molly had been cooking and decided against it. It took us another half an hour to make it back, by which time I had just about enough time to have a quick rinse in the bath - one day, I will pursuade Nightingale that we should install a shower - dress in jeans and a t-shirt and join Nightingale and Varvara in the breakfast room. 

There was a weird atmosphere when I entered, like I had interrupted an argument between my parents - not that such arguments really happened in my house; rather my mum told my dad what needed to happen and he attempted to do it to the best of his abilities so as not to invoke her wrath, but the sort of atmosphere I felt around my friends houses when it was clear their parents were unhappy with each other but were trying to hide it in front of their guests. I think this is something that can only happen if your mother isn't from Sierra Leone but I'd been around it enough times to recognise it and there was definitely something going on - despite the fact that voices really echo in the Folly and I definitely couldn't hear them talking before I came in. I decided that whatever the issue it wasn't my problem, said good morning, receiving a greeting from Nightingale and a nod from Varvara and went to grab my breakfast from the array of bowls and silver platters Molly had laid on. The mystery of the cheesecloth was revealed to be cottage cheese, I assume as an attempt to provide something that Varvara may enjoy but I decided to give it a miss, loading my plate with poached eggs, fried tomatoes and bacon and making my way back to the table. 

For the first few days of Varvaras stay me and Nightingale ate at one table and she at another but whether it was Nightingale's ingrained manners or he felt that 3 meters away was too far for him to keep an eye on her, for the last week we had all eaten together. This did mean that we couldn't discuss work, but as I was still having frequent chats with the Department of Professional Standards about the impromptu demolition of Skygarden and my subsequent tasering by my best mate and was therefore not allowed to work until the investigation had finished, and Nightingale was actually following procedure and not talking about the live cases he had going on, there was not a whole lot of work to discuss. 

Someone had got Varvara more clothes and she was wearing a casual blouse and slacks rather than her skirt suit, her focus entirely fixed on the book in her hand and she was distractedly picking at the food on her plate - the novel was clearly in Russian but as Nightingale hadn't yet included that language in my lessons I could only judge it by the cover - which was mostly black with a picture of a serious man on the phone, an angel statue and an apple shaded like a tennis ball. It was either something deeply existential or a detective thriller, or a combination of both. I pondered Varvara's tastes in literature whilst making my way through my plate, occasionally throwing a bit of bacon under the table to Toby who, as always, was waiting underneath it for this exact reason.

By the time I had got half way through my breakfast Nightingale, who had been drinking tea and reading the paper when I entered, had finished his crossword folded the paper away and focused his attention on me giving me a considering look.

"How is your Latin coming along, Peter?" he asked. 

Now, whilst it had fallen a bit on the backburner recently, I had actually been putting in significant effort to learn, mostly because I was not about to let Abigail overtake me as I would never hear the end of it and I needed to retain at least some air of authority and knowledgeability around her.

"Not bad" I said "I think it's starting to really make sense."

There was an inelegant snort from the other end of the table, and me and Nightingale turned as one to stare at Varvara.

"Yes?" asked Nightingale

Varvara put down her book, marking her spot by folding down a corner. I didn't even have to look at Nightingale to know that he would be vaguely scandalised - I think that the years spent around Postmartin had rubbed off on him.

"It is always so strange that you Newtonian wizards", and there was a particularly snide tone to 'Newtonian', "think that magic is something that needs these sorts of restrictions. I have never learned a word of Latin in my life and it's certainly not stopped me."

Thankfully we were all saved from what inevitably would have descended into an argument about the necessity of Latin in the modern day by the Folly telephone ringing. It was quickly cut off, and a few moments later Molly appeared at Nightingale's elbow.

"For me?" he asked and she inclined her head.

He strode out of the room, leaving me and Varvara sat staring at each other. I really wanted to ask how she did formae if she didn't use Latin words to fix them in her mind, but the thought of yet another lecture from my boss about the necessities of learning the basics before experimenting put me off. Before all the staring could get awkward, the low murmurings from the hall ended and Nightingale entered, swept his eyes over the both of us and said "it seems we may need to leave London for a few days, there is something I need to resolve." 

"I can't work yet, sir" I said. 

"I am well aware of that Peter", Nightingale replied "but this is not a police case, this is a favour to an acquaintance". He must have noticed the vaguely incredulous looks we were giving him. "I do actually have friends other than Molly or yourself" he said peevishly. Considering that to date, the interactions I had seen Nightingale have consisted of vague threats to variously sketchy members of the demi-monde, exchanging light pleasantries with River gods - some of whom actually managed to be older than him and ordering around junior officers on crime scenes, this did not seem likely but I wisely kept that thought to myself.

"John has asked for my help with the Morgawr, it's been a few years since I've last done it and it seems that it has come back inshore again."

"The Morgawr? Is that a sea serpent?" I asked, not expecting to be right. 

"Rather" said Nightingale, "I'm surprised you have heard of it Peter, your reading must really be coming along". He looked so proud of me that I decided not to tell him that the only reason I _had_ heard of it was because I spent several hours up in the tech cave trying to kill it in Final Fantasy. Varvara was looking at me suspiciously but since, as far as I was aware, she couldn't read my mind and give away my secrets I just gave her a bland look back. 

"It shouldn't take too long to deal with it" continued Nightingale "and I wouldn't normally rush down there with quite such speed, but there is a rather important boat race going on apparently and John is concerned that it may cause problems. Since I cannot, in good conscience, leave you alone with Varvara here and since you also are distinctly unprepared to deal with this matter on your own, I believe the only solution is for us to all go together."

"And where, exactly, are you dragging me, Thomas?" Varvara interrupted, "I am not a piece of luggage you can just transport around the country at your leisure!" I was surprised by Varvara's use of Nightingales name. I didn't know when she decided to switch from The Nightingale as she had been calling him, with the capital letters and all, to Thomas but it pointed to something having changed between them. I decided to ponder this development at a later date as I was far too interested in hearing about what seemed to be shaping up to be a trip away from the Folly. 

"We are going to Cornwall, and if you had not wanted to be dragged around the country perhaps you should have given more consideration to aiding the Faceless Man." Nightingale looked distinctly unimpressed by her protests, and to be honest I got the impression that she was complaining about it for the sake of it, rather than because she had any actual objections to travelling. 

I, in the meantime, focused on the fact we were going to Cornwall - the county where Brits who can't quite afford a holiday abroad flock to in the summer and one which, as far as I could tell from the photos I had previously seen online, was seemingly made up exclusively of picturesque fisherman's cottages perched on rugged cliffs above beaches with yellow sand and sea as blue as the Mediterranean. The prospect was quite exciting as I had never really had a holiday by the sea during my childhood, on account of even travelling in England being too expensive for us on my mums cleaning wage. 

"It also means that you will need to wear the handcuffs - I have been very lenient with you whilst in the Folly, where both Molly and I could keep an eye on you, but this will not be the case whilst we're away and I simply cannot trust you not to escape." he continued. 

"I refuse." said Varvara "you do not know what they are like, what it feels like to be fully cut off from your magic, to not be able to protect yourself. I will not be paraded through the streets like this. Leave me behind here, lock me in my room even, I promise I will not run."

Nightingale's face took on a pinched expression "I am perfectly well aware of what they feel like, nonetheless, I cannot leave you here alone with Molly. I will not chain your hands together, however, it will just be the bracelets themselves - perhaps you can pretend that they are jewellery."

"Only a man could say something like that - to imply that something which is suppressing part of me, making me less can ever be considered _jewellery_. And pah! Knowledge from a book or a manual is not the same. You know nothing about it." Her face was twisted in a sneer, and what seemed to me to be a flash of fear if I hadn't known better. She studied Nightingale's face which looked as if it may as well have been carved from stone."It seems that I do not have a choice and your mind is made up, but know that this will feel as torture to me."

I sat silently watching the argument between them; I got the impression that perhaps this was not the first time this topic had been discussed and that they were covering the same ground, and whilst I wanted to chime in that there were some rather broad stroke generalisations about men in there, I didn't think my input would be particularly welcomed. 

"Varvara, it is the only option. I _am_ sorry but I cannot see another way around this. If we had more time perhaps I could look into an alternative, but we must leave today." he sighed heavily and carried on, his voice taking on what I privately call his 'Captain Nightingale about to destroy some tanks' tone. "Peter, go pack a bag - bring enough clothes for three days and whatever else you think you will need and meet me by the Jag in an hour. Varvara, come with me."

I quickly stuffed the last egg on my plate in my mouth, threw Toby the rest of the bacon, downed the dregs of coffee left in my mug and made my escape. Nightingale had meanwhile stood and with a gesture of impatience motioned for Varvara to follow him. I took the stairs up to my room two at a time, feeling a bubbling of excitement in my chest - it was mid August, the sky above London was as clear and blue as it gets and for the first time in my life I was going on a summer holiday. 

I burst into my room, looked around and immediately realised my problem - having never travelled I did not, in fact, possess a suitcase. I had moved my belongings into the Folly in cardboard boxes and somehow I didn't think I could really use one of those. I gave the bag containing my police kit the side eye, but it always had a vague scent of damp gear, mud, and exhaust fumes from being locked in the back of the Asbo for days at a time so I wasn't keen to start putting my actual clothes in it. I looked around slightly at a loss, as if a suitcase would suddenly appear in my room if I looked hard enough. Sadly this didn't happen and if there is a spell to make bags materialise, Nightingale is yet to teach me it. What did appear, however, was Molly who as always seemed to know what I needed better than I did myself, holding a travel bag that looked like the vintage leather duffels so favoured by the the hipsters trying to recapture the spirit of the past. In this bags case I suspected that it was no replica, but the real thing perfectly preserved since it was first made at some point in the last century by Molly diligent care. 

"Thanks Molly," I said, "this is brilliant!" 

She gave a slight bob and glided away, probably to corral Nightingale into packing next. 

Now that I had a bag, I had to decide what to put into it - obviously socks and underwear went first, but then I was stumped - it was summer and hot, and we would be by the sea - should I also bring swimming shorts? Would I have time to swim at all? Or should I, considering the whole sea serpent situation? If I couldn't swim, should I bring normal shorts, or was that too casual? I don't think I had ever seen Nightingale wear anything other than full length trousers so was that what was also expected of me? If we were going to meet one of his acquaintances, then perhaps I should bring my good suit? How involved was dealing with the Morgawr going to be? I was pretty sure I wouldn't need to hit it on repeat with a sword like I had in my game, but perhaps I should bring my stab vest just in case? 

I stayed locked in this state of dismay for some long minutes before Molly came back, and having found me stood in front of a largely empty bag - panicking - pushed me gently aside and took over. She may be able to eat me at any time she wants, but I am very grateful to her nonetheless. In what seemed to be a ridiculously quick time my bag was packed, and my good suit was in a separate garment bag. 'See' , I thought to myself 'I knew I should have brought the suit!' - it's always nice when your thoughts are vindicated. She looked judgingly at my head, and from somewhere produced a wide-brimmed straw hat, with a striped ribbon tied jauntily around it. There was absolutely no way I was wearing it. I rummaged around my room and dug out a cap with a Converse logo emblazoned on the front and said "Thanks Molly, I think I'm just going to wear this though". She made it clear that she thought I was definitely making the wrong decision, and I expected to find the hat squirrelled away somewhere in my belongings later, but at least she didn't try to immediately put it on my head which I counted as a win. 

During this endeavour, the hour that Nightingale had given me to pack had quickly been whittled away and it was time to go to the Jag. Molly grabbed my bag before I could and led the way, with Toby joining the procession when we got to the atrium. We trooped out to the courtyard where Nightingale and Varvara were already standing. I couldn't stop myself from glancing at her wrists. I don't really know what I expected to see - I think in my mind the handcuffs were going to be the sort of rusty, medieval shackles you see depictions of witches wearing in the middle ages, but in reality they were just two heavy-looking bands of silver that could very well have been sold by an enterprising 'artisinal handmade jewellery maker' down Camden Market. It was clear that Nightingale and Varvara weren't talking to each other, so I followed Molly to the boot of the car to help her shove my duffel in - there was already a canvas covered suitcase with wooden trim, and a modern plastic one with an extendable handle and wheels. It was clear which suitcase belonged to who, but I wondered when Varvara had time to buy hers. Certainly I was sure that Nightingale wouldn't have taken her shopping so perhaps Molly had helped out with her catalogues or snuck into the tech cave to buy stuff from ebay. 

"Are you ready?" Nightingale asked. He was stood by the driver side door, wearing a light linen suit and a cerulean shirt which almost made his grey eyes look a pale blue. It was probably the most casually I had ever seen him dressed so I tried very hard not to stare, and nodded my assent. 

"I'm afraid you shall have to take the backseat this time round" he said. 

I was about to argue, as surely after the years of working together I deserved the front more than Varvara, that and I had a solid half foot on her height and was not looking forward to being squeezed into a space designed for people whose legs stopped at their knees but as I opened my mouth, I looked at the tension pulling Nightingale's shoulders soldier-straight and engaged my brain. Take that Stephanopoulos, I do think before I speak sometimes! Of course Nightingale wouldn't want someone sat behind him who made a determined, although failed, attempt to kill him where he couldn't keep his eyes on them. That, and it was sort of sweet that he trusted me enough to watch his back even if I wasn't sure how much use I'd really be. So instead of arguing I clambered in, much to the excitement of Toby who immediately jumped in after me and licked as much of me as he could reach - as we were both at the same height unfortunately this was rather more of my face than I wanted, and I had to wipe it on the hem of my t-shirt once I'd managed to wrestle him away. 

After I managed to pry Toby off me I watched Nightingale, through the window, hesitate for a moment before walking around the car and opening the door for Varvara, who did scoff, but slid into the passenger seat anyway and I watched her face in the rear view mirror look quietly pleased while Nightingale was walking back around the car and couldn't see her. He got into the car himself, adjusting the rear view mirror and fiddling briefly with the radio, something he had never done before, but perhaps he was feeling a bit nervous about our upcoming adventure too. I looked out and saw Molly hovering near the car so I rolled down my window and she came up with one of her mystery brown bags which was heavy enough that I had to strain a little to pull it through the gap and into my lap. There was some ominous clinking, but no sounds of breaking glass, so I assumed all was OK and stuffed it into the footwell next to me. 

Finally it seemed that we were ready to go, so Nightingale threw the car into gear, revved the engine and the Jag peeled out of the courtyard leaving Molly standing, her hand raised in a small wave, behind us. My great British summer holiday had begun and not even the presence of a sea monster, or Lesley's betrayal was able to dampen my spirits at that moment.

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic in a decade. It's been a long time and I am horribly out of practice so I am sure that there are plenty of mistakes - please do point them out to me. The fic is almost fully plotted and I'm hoping to keep posting a chapter every Sunday, real life allowing. Comments, kudos or just resting your eyes on the words are all equally appreciated! 
> 
> I must admit that I have never played Final Fantasy and had only come across it featuring the Morgawr because it came up on Google - if anyone has and everything I said about it is wrong, please let me know. 
> 
> I also have a tumblr where you can find snippets, image boards of the places and other random rubbish @peaceful-loon so do feel free to come shout at me there too. 
> 
> Much love, and see you next week for such highlights as - whether there is a spell that lets you skip room booking queues in hotels, who 'John' is and how he met Nightingale and whether the Loch Ness Monster has a cousin.


End file.
